


Fall

by Naya



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gold Sickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naya/pseuds/Naya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with one look. </p>
<p>The slow falling of a Hobbit and a Dwarf King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a thing?  
> It’s bagginshield so of course it's heartbreaking, and it’s also the result of sleep-depravation and finals week, so, it’s not edited and I’m just gonna post it. Because it’s been literally years since the last time I posted something and I want to post something damnit. 
> 
> Here goes nothing. Enjoy!

It starts with a look

They've been walking for so long, and slept so little, and Bilbo's feet hurt like they never have and he is just about to go mad with all of it. But it's not just that. Because, as if it wasn't enough already, there's something else, something far more complicated than tired feet and endless wandering, that has been biting at his mind whenever he has a minute of relative piece to actually listen to his thoughts. 

Thorin. The brooding, grave, rude and spectacularly handsome Dwarf King, has been the subject of preference for Bilbo's mind for a while now. That alone is enough to make him feel uneasy and unbalanced, but what's been picking at him the worst, is the fact that he sees those thoughts reflected on Thorin, too. 

If he’s completely honest with himself, he’s been feeling it since that first night at Bag End ("So this is the hobbit?" and very indiscreet eyes don't leave much wondering to make), but ever since the whole ordeal with Azog, the Orc King, happened, he can’t stop searching for signs of it, and _finding them_.

Because what he's been feeling, he can see it in Thorin, too. He isn’t vain, but he’s lived his years, and he knows the effect he’s had on many lads and lasses from the Shire. And he sees in Thorin’s eyes, what he used to see in theirs – all that pent-up frustration, all that heat and lust, encapsulated into impossible blue.

So it’s after the Orcs. Bilbo doesn't really know why - he thinks it might be because of his reckless jumping in front of Thorin (after all, that hug and the awkward lingering touch after it were what confirmed his suspicions), and he does realize it's been a sort of growing thing. For him, it started at Bag End. For Thorin, probably, too. But it's been so slow and cautious, and surrounded by so much running for their lives that he hasn't had time to think about it until now, now that they've escaped death once again and they keep on their wandering. 

I'ts like this: somehow, he and Thorin can’t seem to be apart from each other. He doesn't know how it changes -- from scowling at each other far more than adult people should, to being joined by the hip. He feels like a stupid boy with a crush, but he can't help searching for excuses to be with Thorin, and Thorin does it too – he makes sure Bilbo’s the one sitting at his side, always, when they camp; they share meaningless conversations of this thing and the other as they wait for sleep to catch onto them; and they both start searching each other’s eyes whenever the others are distracted enough that they won’t notice. 

And one day, Bilbo’s gaze isn’t followed by an awkward smile and a head-duck.

He’s met with Thorin Oakenshield’s dark blue eyes burning a fire into his soul, and he's _lost_.

\--

They fuck.

Later, much later that night, after they've finished eating and Bilbo’s been left fretting on his spot where he’s sitting _right next to Thorin_ , trying so hard not to look at him too much, not to let his fingers slip and hold onto Thorin's braids, not to yell at everyone to leave already; but instead waiting until everyone’s drunk and laughed enough and departed to their own tents. Finally, they’re left alone, under a sky of endless stars and a slowly burning fire, they sit side by side and they look at each other - and that’s it.

The next memory Bilbo has is of Thorin pushing him into his furs, mouthing at his neck, and him trying not to moan too loudly whilst also trying to get his hands on every inch of Thorin that he can, and thinking that it’s never getting better than this when Thorin pushes inside of him, tearing him apart with words in Khuzdul that make no sense and still manage to make his whole body shake, because Thorin touches him and fucks him like he’s something precious, something to be _owned_ , something to be fucked just like this and Bilbo _loves it_.

\--

They don’t talk about it for days.

And then they fuck again.

\--

They can't seem to stop after that.

They fuck behind bushes, trees, and rocks. Whenever the company is distracted enough, they manage to steal a few minutes from the day to get their hands on each other.

Bilbo drops to his knees more times that he cares to count while on the run, as does Thorin.

After Mirkwood, Thorin shows Bilbo exactly how grateful he is for his loyalty.

And who knew it’d be such a turn on to have a King on his knees for your dick?

\--

They fuck in Dale, and that’s when everything changes.

\--

Bilbo is riding Thorin.

He’s riding him so hard the bed is creaking and for the first time it doesn’t matter how loud they are, because they’re alone in the house.

And Thorin is _loud_. The dwarf growls and bites his neck and speaks heavy words in Khuzdul as Bilbo's hips rush them both towards insanity, as Bilbo holds onto his hair and pulls, like he knows Thorin likes it, and Thorin comes, and it happens.

“Fuck, fuck, Bilbo – _amralimê_ …”

Bilbo doesn’t really know what it means, except he does.

When he comes, he does with a racing heart that’s half his orgasm and half his rising panic.

\--

But later that night, Thorin holds him close to his chest, silent as the dark around them. 

And Bilbo's panic disolves away with their kiss.

\--

"You and I will be great in Erebor," Thorin tells him the next morning, his fingers running through Bilbo's messy bed hair, his voice full of hope and promises. "We will be perfect."

Bilbo smiles and thinks that they already are. 

\--

Of course, the Dragon Sickness happens, and it all goes to hell.

\--

“Thorin – go – fuck, go slower…”

\--

“You would steal from me?”

\--

“You’re _mine_...”

“Wait, Thorin –”

\--

“You’ve changed, Thorin!”

\--

“Thorin, Thorin you’re _hurting_ me –”

\--

“Shire _rat!_ ”

\--

“Thorin, stop!”

\--

"Throw him from the ramparts!"

\--

"Thorin!"

\--

One day, The Battle of the Five Armies will be a great story to tell. 

For the time being, it's Bilbo's greatest fears rolled up into one terrible day.

\--

Bilbo wakes up in a nightmare.

His head feels heavy, the air smells of death and there are screams coming from everywhere.

The eagles are there.

So is Thorin, and he is dying.

\--

“Farewell, Master Baggins…”

“Thorin, don’t you dare!”

Bilbo loves him.

Bilbo _loves him_.

They say you never realize what you've got until you lose it. 

In that one moment of absolute dread, Bilbo fully understands.

\--

But Thorin doesn’t die.

He seems to agonize for hours, though, and it’s so bad that Bilbo stops asking for him to live, and instead, asks for him to stop _suffering_.

But then there’s an elf in the tent, one he doesn’t know but she comes in with Kili, and he doesn't know how much time goes by but Bilbo watches her work, a bright light and strange words and it's the wonders of elvish magic and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about magic or any wonders besides the pain vanishing from Thorin’s face, the wonderful sound of his breathing going back to normal.

He cries with relief, and he doesn’t let go of Thorin’s hand until he wakes.

\--

They make love.

After, a long time after, when Thorin is still healing but has already been moved to his rooms. It’s the first time since the Gold Sickness, and the difference is so striking it makes Bilbo dizzy.

Thorin apologizes. He doesn’t stop, not even when Bilbo tells him it’s okay, tells him it wasn’t him, tells him he loves him and it’s okay.

Thorin speaks in Khuzdul, and he treats Bilbo like someone precious, someone to protect, someone to be _loved_.

He cries. He cries and keeps apologizing, and Bilbo soothes him with sweet nothings, mouthing over his scars, running his hands up and down Thorin’s chest and kissing his tears, letting Thorin sob into his mouth, petting his hair back, kissing his nose. And after, riding him slowly and lovingly, tangling their hands together and looking right into his beautiful, beautiful eyes.

“Don’t leave me,” Thorin says, still crying as he lets go of Bilbo’s hands and grabs Bilbo’s waist a little too tight, a little too desperate, sucking a spot on his neck.

And Bilbo just rolls into his touch and moans, kissing him.

“Never. _Never_.”

They make love, and they never stop after that.

\--  
END.


End file.
